


tomorrow spills across the sky

by Flowerparrish



Category: Marvel
Genre: First Kiss, First Meetings, M/M, Millennial Bucky Barnes, cawclunks, meet ugly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29412222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowerparrish/pseuds/Flowerparrish
Summary: “You drank my beer.” The guy sounds distinctly annoyed about this; there’s a growl in his tone.Clint holds up the case. “I brought more!” The guy raises his eyebrows, and before Clint can stop his mouth from running away with itself, he adds, “We could share some if you like.”It’s undeniably a come-on.Clint feels his cheeks heat up as the guy doesn’t respond for long moments, just drags his gaze down and back up Clint’s frame with a considering look on his face.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 20
Kudos: 104
Collections: 2021 Winterhawk Valentine's Day Exchange





	tomorrow spills across the sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lacerta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacerta/gifts).



> Hi Jess! I hope you enjoy this! Happy Valentine's Day!

Clint darts into an alley and freezes. There’s no escape at the end; he can vault the fence but that’ll take time, and then they’ll just follow. There’s enough of them to even swing around and try to cut him off—

His eyes catch on a fire escape, and, yeah, that’ll do. He scrambles up and sends up a prayer—he’s not sure to who, but maybe someone is listening—as he tugs on a window, hoping it’s not locked.

It’s not.

That’s concerning for whomever lives here, but what the fuck, Clint’s not gonna shoot a gift horse or whatever the phrase is.

He carefully shuts the window behind him after he tumbles through it, glancing out and down to see the people who’ve been chasing him run into the alley and stop, heated arguing echoing in the tight space.

Clint doesn’t even know who the fuck they are; all he knows is that they tried to grab him and he wasn’t having that.

“Uh,” he calls out. “Hello?”

There’s no response for long enough that he starts to relax, and then a _yowl_ breaks the silence. He glances down and sees a white cat winding around his ankles, leaving hair on his pants. “Oh, hello.” He’s a dog person first and foremost, but cats are nice. He respects their independence. “Sorry, I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

As his adrenaline crashes, though, he realizes just how bruised and beat up he is from the fight that led to his desperate fleeing through the city at two in the morning. This is what he gets for going out to a bar so far from the Tower—but, fuck, he really wanted some anonymity.

Apparently that’s impossible these days. He doesn’t know how to feel about that.

He sighs and goes to the fridge, opening it and wilting in relief when he sees beer there. It’s local craft beer, which Clint would vehemently deny he likes, but, yeah. It’s the good stuff.

He feels kind of bad when he takes one and pops the tab, but he fucking deserves this.

He doesn’t want to sit on the couch, because he’s bleeding from a minor stab wound in his side. Instead, he pulls out his cracked phone and finds a local pizza place on DoorDash, using GPS to pinpoint his location.

That set, he goes into the bathroom and digs a first aid kit out from under the sink. Whoever this person is, they’re well stocked.

He can’t stitch his side, but that’s fine. He’s not in danger of bleeding out. Instead, he takes a couple more extra strength Tylenol than is advisable and washes it down with tap water from the sink.

He should stop drinking his beer, but nah, fuck that.

He cleans his wound, and it stings like a bitch but he barely flinches, just takes an extra long pull from his drink before setting it down so he can use both hands to carefully pack and cover gauze and tape it down.

There. Good enough to get him home.

The pizza gets left at the door, a knock resounding. He opens it and picks it up.

He inhales the pizza, barely tasting it and definitely burning his tongue, and when he's done he leaves the box in the corner by the garbage.

It’s been an hour, so there’s no reason to stick around. He leaves as note that says “ _sorry, I owe you one for the beer”_ because he lost his wallet when those guys from before got the jump on him. To be honest, at first he’d thought it was a standard mugging that they were going to regret, but nah, these guys were too prepared for that.

Clint leaves out the front door, hoping that a person who doesn’t lock their windows won’t be too perturbed about their door being left unlocked, too.

* * *

It’s five days, a thwarted terrorist cell, and a 12 hour nap later when Clint finally has the time to go back.

He shows up at 2 pm with a whole case of beer, because it seems like whoever the person was, they must’ve worked nights.

The building is locked, and Clint could get in—worst case, he could wait for someone to go in or out and then dart in while the door’s open—but where’s the fun in that?

He takes the window again, side barely twinging as he climbs. He knocks on the pane before sliding it open and slipping inside, with much more grace this time than the last.

The cat winds around his legs again as Clint calls out, “Hey, you home?”

A guy comes tumbling out of the bedroom that Clint hadn’t gone into on his last visit. He’s wearing a thin tank top and briefs that leave nothing to the imagination and he’s… well, Clint’s a little in love.

But like. Respectfully.

He drags his gaze back up to the guy’s face in time to realize he’s saying something. “Who are you?”

“Uh, Clint. Barton.”

The guy narrows his eyes. “Like, the Avenger?”

“Yeah.”

He holds up a hand and pulls out his phone. After tapping away for a few moments, he shrugs and puts his phone down. “Okay. Why are you here?”

“Oh, yeah, some guys were chasing me and I broke into your apartment when I needed a place to lay low. Like… I don’t know, time’s a blur, a few days ago.”

“You drank my beer.” The guy sounds distinctly annoyed about this; there’s a growl in his tone.

Clint holds up the case. “I brought more!” The guy raises his eyebrows, and before Clint can stop his mouth from running away with itself, he adds, “We could share some if you like.”

It’s undeniably a come-on.

Clint feels his cheeks heat up as the guy doesn’t respond for long moments, just drags his gaze down and back up Clint’s frame with a considering look on his face. “I have work in a couple hours,” he says. “Can’t show up with alcohol in my system.”

“No, right, of course—” Clint starts, cheeks heating up even more.

“Take me out for breakfast in the morning instead,” the guy says, cutting off Clint’s babbling. “I’ll be back home by four am. Say, five? Six?”

“Five,” Clint agrees immediately. “Got it. Uh… what’s your name?”

A smile finally crosses the guy’s face. He looks amused and _breath-takingly_ handsome. “James,” he tells Clint. “But my friends call me Bucky.”

“Bucky,” Clint echoes, just so he can feel the taste of it on his tongue. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll get out of your hair. I’ll see you at five?”

“See you at five.”

Clint sets down the beer on the counter and heads out the door, looking back before he closes it to give Bucky a grin. “By the way, you should really lock your window.”

Bucky huffs and rolls his eyes. “Lock’s busted. Landlord keeps putting off fixing it.”

“I can fix it,” Clint offers before he realizes what he’s saying. “Uh, I mean, if you want.”

Bucky’s eyes are appraising, heavy and hot. “Yeah? Okay. After breakfast, you can fix the lock, and I’ll pay you in beer.”

“Paying me in my own beer?”

“You gave it to me,” Bucky points out. “’S my beer now.”

“Well, in that case,” Clint agrees with a smile. “Sounds good. It’s a date?” He doesn’t mean for his voice to turn up in pitch at the end there, painfully hopeful.

But it does.

Luckily, Bucky seems charmed by Clint’s ineptitude at flirting. “It is,” he confirms. He eyes Clint for another long moment before huffing again, a little exasperated sound. He advances on Clint, who freezes, and reaches out to cup his face. “I’m going to kiss you,” he says. “Any objections?”

Clint melts at the touch. “Nope,” he assures Bucky. “No objections here.”

Bucky leans in, and it’s a gentle kiss. It’s honestly little more than a brush of lips. But his mouth is warm and soft, lips just a little chapped in a way that makes them feel _real._ Clint can’t help but lean in to chase them when Bucky pulls away.

“I’ve gotta get ready soon,” Bucky says. Clint is pretty sure now he sounds regretful. “I’ll see you soon, Clint.”

He closes the door, and Clint just stares at it for a few moments, replaying the kiss in his head.

When he eventually makes his way back out the front door of the building, he can’t keep a smile off his face.


End file.
